


This World Could Never Hold Her

by Schwoozie



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alexandria Safe-Zone, Bethyl Smut Week, Cunnilingus, Demisexual Daryl Dixon, Established Relationship, Exploration, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-22
Updated: 2016-08-22
Packaged: 2018-08-10 11:07:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7842481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Schwoozie/pseuds/Schwoozie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Neither of them have done this before, and they're both scared—but that's ok. It's ok because it's her, and it's him, and if there's anyone Beth wants getting lost between her legs it's Daryl Dixon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	This World Could Never Hold Her

**Author's Note:**

> **Warning for brief mentions of sexual coercion and the possibility of rape (both in Daryl's past).**
> 
> I died a little writing this. I hope it makes you as happy as it makes me.
> 
> Thanks to Abelina for beta'ing <3

It's a while before it happens for the first time, which isn't so peculiar. They'd both grown up in worlds versed in traditional sex. For Beth, her daddy and the church. For Daryl it was his daddy too, but also Merle and the women he pushed at Daryl, who were usually too drunk to do much but lie there and scratch his shoulders painfully as he pumped inside them as fast as possible. Sometimes they were less drunk, and sometimes more, and Daryl quickly learned what he preferred; he'd never been good at talking his way out of things, and if they passed out before he got his dick wet, well, that was no one's fault. He could sit around in the bedroom or the back of the club and smoke out an open window for a bit, lost in his thoughts as Miss Whatever snored loudly nearby.

It got him out of fucking them, which he never really enjoyed; it protected them from other men who might fuck them no matter their state of consciousness. Usually he'd shake them awake after an hour or so, tell them that they didn't have sex but to say they did, and they'd go their separate ways. It worked for everyone, and when the world ended he didn't need to worry about it anymore. He'd jerk off in the woods sometimes, his cell when they reached the prison, but never to anything in particular. Faceless men and women with unidentifiable limbs and dipping backs that could belong to anyone, paired up and splayed on a bed while Daryl watched them, cock in his hand and twisting. It never felt particularly _good_ , not with the memories it brought; but it was a release. A time when his thoughts could go quiet, lost in the soft slapping sound of his hand on himself.

And then came Beth. And then she went. And then she came back. And suddenly the figures in his fantasies had faces.

She was a virgin when he first fucked her. Had barely gotten to second base before, held his dick like it was about to bite her, pulled him on top of her before he got a chance to really _see_. That first time, it was almost like she wanted it over with as quickly as possible, like she was worried that if they slowed down, if they paused, that he'd run away.

Or she would.

She wanted it. She did. Whispered to him how her body hadn't felt like hers since she woke up with a bullet hole through her brain. Whispered too how much she wanted him; mumbling red-faced as Daryl stared at her in nothing short of incredulity as she talked about him showing up on the farm—the _farm_ —in his sweat and leather and the well-bred shame she felt for wanting that. But then the winter, and the prison, and things changed, shifted, and when they were on their own—he nearly swallowed his own tongue when she told him how badly she'd wanted to crawl into that casket with him and...

Her imagination stopped there, at least what could be told in words, but Daryl has a good imagination too. And it was in the midst of her babbling about how no one makes her feel safe like he does that he pushed a clumsy kiss into her mouth and—and.

He wanted it too, was the thing. Never had before, at least in anything beyond a drifting thought. He was used to those, how they meant nothing, but somehow with Beth they meant everything and he nearly passed out when he came inside her because this, _this_ , this must be what Merle wanted so bad for him all those years.

It was awkward the first few times. And then it wasn't. He learned her quickly, what she likes: his thumbs pressing into her nipples, the spot on her neck that makes her spasm when he kisses it, what to say while rolling her clit between his knuckles, telling her how beautiful she is and how much he wants to fuck her and how her pussy fits him just right—

He'd never been good at talking his way out of things. But she got him saying other stuff and god, once he started there was no way to stop.

There's nothing coming out of his mouth now, and nothing out of hers either. She's sleeping, the moonlight that filters through Daryl's blinds echoing off her cheek, her nipples still puffy and swollen from the time he'd spent on them.

She always falls asleep before him and he always watches her for a while before drifting off himself, but tonight is different. He feels restless. Earlier that day there'd been a breach in the fence near the preschool where Beth works—and fuck, whoever thought putting a _preschool_ near the wall was a good idea should be fucking shot—and he'd been one of the first people there to try and fight them back. Nearly went out of his mind afterwards, abandoning the group putting up makeshift fortifications to look for her. He found her in a pantry in the basement of the school (almost got a knife in his chest when he opened the door too fast) the kids huddled around her like she was some kind of Madonna, and _christ_ she looked beautiful—knife held like he taught her, beads of sweat running down her temples, ponytail disheveled and eyes wide—and the moment the words “It's safe” left his lips she launched herself at him, never once losing her grip on the knife as she squeezed him around the neck and buried her face in his chest.

They don't fuck every night, but he wasn't surprised when Beth slipped into his room and started taking her clothes off right in front of him. She's still shy about him seeing her body and he lets her be because he's shy about the same thing, but for the first time she didn't seem to care—stripped down and stepped forward and tugged at his clothes until he was naked too and she could sink into his lap and hold him close as she rode his dick to completion.

And now she's sleeping. Fell asleep almost immediately after she came, dropping sideways from his lap and clumsily pulling the sheets up with a sigh and a mumbled goodnight. He went to the bathroom to piss and clean himself up but other than that he's been watching her ever since.

And he's restless. And she's _here_ , all of her, naked in his bed, and even though it feels like a violation he doesn't try too hard to stop himself from pulling the sheets below her thighs.

His eyes take her in, what he can see in the dark. The scars that darken her skin like trenches—on her forehead and cheek, which he's memorized, but now others too: a long straight line that must be from an appendectomy, and others—jagged, haphazard, littering her torso and arms, more than he expected but not too many to count. She makes a small sound in her sleep and shifts and that brings his eyes up, down—to the similar darkness of her nipples, and then to what makes his heart pound. She's splayed out a little—mostly on her side but legs spread just enough that he can see the dusting of her pubic hair and the top of her pussy lips where they come together in their tight crease. His fingers drift forward to brush the apex, flinching back when she twitches, but not far. They hover close because she hasn't fully dried from their session earlier. He twists his fingers and sees them sheen with wet.

And suddenly he thinks—he doesn't think. He _feels_ , the same rush of adrenaline from when he thought she could be gone again, and it rises in him in such a panic that he doesn't question himself when he rolls her gently onto her back and nudges her legs apart.

With her pussy exposed to the air he can smell her—heady and sweet, a smell that shocked him the first time he smelled it because it was so familiar and so different at once. Familiar because he'd been smelling it since Merle decided he was old enough to get it up—familiar because of all the rooms he'd been pushed into and the bodies he'd pumped inside and how dirty and debased he'd felt through it all, but—it's also Beth. And he's been learning slowly what that means; that smelling it is a good thing, for both of them. That she wants him, _him_ , him to kiss her and thrust against and touch where she shows him until she has to press her face into his chest to keep her moans muffled. He could live inside that smell, and again, his fingers drop to touch her, index and middle finger tracing the edges of her lips where they just barely gap in front of him. He's close, close enough that his cheek rests in the cradle of her hip, watching his fingers stroke up and down, seeing her begin to glisten before his eyes.

He closes his eyes and breathes out, smiles a little when she shivers in her sleep at the feeling of his breath. He breathes in and it pulls his head closer so when he opens his eyes she fills his vision, his eyes used enough to the dark that he sees more than shadows—sees the downy hair that he strokes back and forth, sees the line where it begins to taper off and leave smooth membrane in its wake, how that cedes too to the ripples of her inner lips and the hood on top, her clit poking out like he knows the head of his dick is from his foreskin because at some point during this he's gotten hard and it's almost distracting until he breathes in again and rolls closer.

The movement jostles the bed more than he wanted it to and suddenly she's awake. He doesn't have to look up to know—can tell from the sudden tension in her thighs, the stomach that presses against the crown of his head as she starts to sit up. He closes his eyes, breathing, a thought building that he doesn't quite understand but—he likes. He likes it.

“Daryl? What're you doing?”

It's so intimate, her sleep-slurred words, and he looks away from her pussy to find her eyes in the dark. She looks confused, concerned, maybe a little scared—and it's that last one that sends a shiver through him because he never wants to see that look on her face ever again. Especially not here.

“I'm just...” He doesn't know how to say it. That he's terrified too but for the first time in his life he kind of likes it.

She terrifies him. Has since the moonshine shack, maybe since before. Maybe that's why he was so hostile to her in the weeks after the prison—he was grieving, yes, and angry with the world but mostly with himself—but there was also her. Always there at the corner of his eye, looking at him. Just looking. Asking him to give her something he didn't have a name for.

He still doesn't know that name. But he knows its shape. He knows what it looks like carved through by a bullet.

“Daryl?”

She's jiggling a little, and it takes him a moments to realize that she's trying to be subtle about closing her legs and pulling away. His hands tighten on her out of reflex, one pressing into her thigh and the other into her pussy lips and her sharp gasp sends his blood pounding in a way that makes it hard to think.

“I wanna...” He trails off, drops his eyes from her face and back to her pussy and the movement brings him so _close_ —close enough that he feels like he's put his cheeks to a heat lamp. She tries to move again and again he stops her but this time the movement knocks his nose against her lips and they both breathe in sharply. Beth begins to tremble.

He knows there's a name for it. He knows Merle loved to talk about it, how it felt to bury his face in a woman's pussy. Daryl learned quickly how to tune him out but now he wishes he'd listened more closely because with each breath he's getting closer and it feels like he's being swallowed and like Jonah in the whale he'll need God's deepest grace to get back out.

But he doesn't want to. Fuck, he doesn't want to.

“Daryl Dixon, _what are you doing?_ ”

“Wanna taste you,” he murmurs.

It startles both of them. Daryl hadn't been prepared to say anything—and he always prepares. Always knows what's gonna come out of his mouth before it does because words are _important—_ they break you or make you strong and he never wants to break Beth, ever.

But here he's said those words. And he realizes he does. Want to taste her. He doesn't know why, except he's tasted her everywhere else—the skin of her throat and the tips of her nipples and the sweat that gathers beneath her breasts, her wet mouth as it opens beneath him.

Maybe because, like everything he feels for her, it's another thing he doesn't know the name for.

He glances up at her, his lips brushing her pussy and his breath washing across it and he can't decipher the look on her face. Still hazed with sleep and softened further in confusion, but also sharpening slowly into an understanding that sets his heart pounding.

“Down there?” she asks.

There's nothing else he could mean, but he nods, every motion bringing him into contact with her outer lips, making her twitch and shiver. Her thighs are trembling, he realizes, a lot like they do when he's brought her to a really good orgasm, and he thinks that maybe that's what this is about. Another way to touch her. Make her feel good.

Pull her inside of him and never let her out.

She's still staring at him, and she swallows, pushing her hair out of her face with a shaking hand. It's warm but not too warm but she's still sweating, hair sticking to her forehead.

“Why?” she asks.

He shrugs, bringing a hand down to play with her pubic hair again. It isn't long enough to twirl but he can still rub it between his fingers, smooth it against her mons. Whenever he gets low enough he feels that intoxicating wet and he takes a moment to roll his hips against the mattress, gulp softly when the friction sends a wave of electricity through his limbs. He looks up and she's still, still staring, but some of the shock is gone, replaced by an open curiosity that makes his blood pound.

“Maggie... Maggie's talked about it sometimes, but I've never–”

“Me neither.”

“She says it feels good,” Beth whispers. Her hand slides into his hair like it does sometimes, the best times, when she's riding him furiously or telling him to go faster, harder, and her touch is only one of the reasons he obeys—but it doesn't hurt. And now her fingers are twined in his hair, tugging slightly as he hums, eyes fluttering shut until they shoot open because she's pulled him down, down until his lips are against her pussy again. He wants to lick his lips but if he did he'd be licking _her_ and the reality of that makes him shake all over.

“You want it?” she whispers. He knows that tone of voice. It's the one she uses when she's trying to be brave, to convince others and maybe herself that she deserves to be where she is. Deserves to be here.

She hasn't used that tone with him. Not for a long time. And he wants her to know it's ok to be scared when there's only him and the moon to see it, that he's sure that no matter what Maggie's said, she's spent her whole life hearing how this is dirty, sinful and sick. Hershel was a good man but he was still a father and a man of God and Daryl can't imagine him telling Beth anything different. And even if he did, there was the church—its pastor and the ladies dressed in white and the classes that taught her that everything they've already done will send her to Hell–

But Daryl knows Hell. He's lived in it, and they're all living in it now. And looking up at her from between her legs, he doesn't think it's as bad as everyone says it is.

“Yeah,” he rumbles. She's still staring at him and fuck she looks so beautiful with her smooth skin and her nipples standing out from her chest that suddenly he's stumbling over his words. “I, it ain't like... I dunno if it'll be any good. I never done it–”

He jerks his head up and frowns because she's laughing. Still holding onto his hair but laughing and he flushes a deep red. She's laughed in bed—they both have—but she's never laughed _at_ him, and he can't tell–

“Daryl,” she says, sobering quickly when she sees his face. She smiles, and moves her hand from his hair to his cheek, feels the heat radiating from it. “You said that the first time we went to bed together, too.” She runs her thumb across his skin until she's touching his mouth, pushing a little on the bottom lip. “And I think you did a pretty good job,” she whispers.

Daryl shivers even as he blushes harder because he didn't do a good job, not at all; shot into the condom moments after bottoming out, had to fumble at her with his fingers until she reached down to guide him so she could finish too. He's gotten better at it— _they both have_ , he thinks, remembering Beth with her hands on the headboard and her legs clenching his waist and her lips around his cock and fuck, why the hell didn't he do this the first time she sucked him off—but the first time–

“Daryl,” she says firmly, and he snaps back to the present, sees her eyes penetrating, alert. “Get out of your head and believe me.” She pushes her thumb between his lips and without thinking about it he sucks on it a little, making her jaw clench. “I don't care about doing it _right_. I wanna do it with _you_.”

She slides her thumb out of his mouth, his lips releasing it with a soft _pop_ , and returns her hand to his hair, scratching lightly. He leans into her touch, then breathes out heavily and presses his forehead against her mound. His nose is almost between her lips again and once more he's hit by the heady scent of her. He breathes in, mouth quirking when he hears her own shaky breath, then raises his head and nods at her pussy.

“Open up, then.”

She stares at him, nipples rising and falling as her breathing deepens—from arousal or anxiety, he doesn't want to think about at the moment—and slowly, shakingly, her legs fall apart.

It's his first time seeing her up close like this; he imagines it's the first time _anyone's_ seen her like this, and that knowledge makes his chest pound almost as hard as his cock as his thumb comes up without his own volition to pull one of her pussy lips father aside.

“Daryl,” she whispers, but he doesn't respond—strokes at that line again, where hair ends and membrane begins, stares at the sticky strands of liquid connecting her inner labia to her outer, dangling and dripping off of everything. He shuffles closer, trying to use his shoulders to push her legs open wide enough that he doesn't have to hold her, but it isn't enough–

Her hand comes into his view, shaking just like her legs, and he looks back up at her face. She's bright red, embarrassed to hell and back, but she doesn't shirk from his gaze.

When he looks back down he _whines_ , because there she is spreading herself; fingers slipping a little in her sopping mess, but finding a grip where they can and holding herself open for him.

“That's what you wanted, right?” Beth breathes, pulling her legs still wider until she practically has a foot hanging off each side of the full bed. “You–, you like it when I touch myself and I–”

“You're perfect,” Daryl whispers, his fingers now free to drift down the triangle of her pussy, her spongy entrance fluttering as he brushes his index finger across it. He shudders along with her, feeling absurdly like he's touching _himself_ now—like when the tip of his finger presses inside of her he's opening himself up too, drenching the bed with his fluids.

“Daryl,” she breathes again, edging towards a whine as she pulls her lips wider, almost impatient in her movements as her hips buck a little. Without taking his eyes from her pussy Daryl kisses her inner thigh, sucking a sweet circle into his mouth as he cuts off her next breath by giving her the rest of his finger.

At this point he can't count the number of times he's had his fingers inside her, one or two or three pumping and tickling her inner walls while she rubs her clit against his palm. But it's always been her face he looks at. It might end up with him taking her from behind or spinning her around so he can rut into her ass, but it always starts with her face—watching her rose petal mouth fall open, her cheeks begins to flush, her eyelids grow heavy as her irises swell and darken and lock onto his eyes until he's hard enough to take her right then.

But now his finger is inside her and he _sees it inside her—_ sees her cunt opening like stretched cotton to let him in, gripping him and following him as he draws outward. The rest of her pussy is shivering, almost as expressive as her face, and he wonders... letting go of her thigh he leans closer as he turns his hand like she showed him, rooting around until–

He doesn't need her muffled shout or the whitening of her knuckles to know he's found it, because he can see her whole pussy clench and her clit fucking _tremble_ , and he can't believe he hasn't paid attention to it so far because it's _gorgeous_ —shining like a pearl and swollen as a cock-head as it pushes against and through its hood, and he can almost imagine the whimpers sounding above him are coming directly from that straining, pulsing nerve.

“Fuck, Daryl,” Beth gasps, fingers scrambling to keep their grip as he feels her other hand tighten in his hair before releasing suddenly, fisting in the sheets near her hip. Even with his finger stoppering whatever fluid comes from inside her she seems to be getting wetter and wetter and her arousal smells so strong that every time he breathes in it's like he's drowning in her. He twists his finger again and makes her shout and her pussy seize and before he can think his mouth is sealing over her pulsing clit.

The sound she makes is so close to a scream that he pulls away immediately, his finger halfway out of her before her fingers are back in his hair, yanking cruelly.

“I'm sorry–”

“Don't–, don't fucking, I,” Beth babbles, seemingly past coherence as she sits up farther, looking at him with wild eyes as she shoves her hips back down on his finger, eyelids fluttering as he sinks back inside. “Do that again,” she manages, “Get my–, I–“

Daryl pulls his finger out of her cunt, ignoring her whine and tugging fingers as he re-situates himself, Merle's voice whispering in his ear as he pulls her legs over his shoulders— _she's gonna squeeze you till you can't hear your_ self _scream—_ and shoving her up the bed by her hips until she's better supported by the pillows, flashing her blown pupils a searing look before draping his mouth across her pussy.

His mouth isn't big enough to catch her clit but he swallows everything else—everything between her still-spreading fingers, her inner lips and leaking hole and he almost chokes on his own spit as her flavor explodes on his tongue, yanking a growl from his throat as he sweeps it up and down, dipping a moment into the hole opened by his finger before pulling away to swirl around it.

He gasps air in through his nose as he attacks her—and that's the only word in his mind, _attack,_ because he feels the same kind of adrenaline as he remembers from the street fights of his youth—fighting to hold her down as she bucks and writhes, ending up with his hands pressed to her stomach, biceps holding her thighs in place.

Merle was wrong about one thing, because he _can_ hear—hears her gasps and babbling and whispers of _god, god, GOD, my god, Daryl_ , hears his own heavy breathing, grunts and growls like a fucking animal because she's _delicious_ , dripping like a fountain onto his tongue as he caresses the folds he learned long ago with his fingers, going back to her entrance when the taste lessens and he grows thirsty for more. She's so slippery that she finally gives up on keeping herself spread. As her fingers recede her lips close a little, gripping Daryl's cheeks between them, and he shakes his head back and forth just to find out what it feels like with his beard sliding against her.

She makes a choked off noise and he looks up, up past her poor straining clit and his hands holding her down and he almost stops because she's _never_ looked like this—eyes visibly fighting to stay open, mouth gaping and a forgotten line of spit rolling down to her chin, hand in a claw and scraping across the sheets like she's looking for something to hold onto. Her hand is back in his hair and his scalp must have gone numb because her pulling doesn't hurt anymore; feels only like a pressure, pulling him in, grasping him like an anchor.

She meets his eyes and moans, stomach muscles trembling under his hands as she tries to spread her legs still farther. Daryl feels a strange urge to show off, now that he sees her watching him; he pulls his mouth off of her, ignoring the insistent noise she makes as he dips his head to the bottom of her vulva, extends his tongue and licks upward. His eyes nearly flutter closed at how good she feels under his tongue, but he keeps his gaze on her, takes in her wide, crazed eyes as her hips buck and he kisses her clit, shivers at the sob that explodes from her mouth.

“Daryl,” she says, and she actually does sound like she's crying, “Daryl, god, please, _please_ –”

He lingers at her clit, brushing it feather-light with his lips, still silent, watching her with wonder as she goes out of her mind above him.

“You want me to–, _christ_ , Daryl, what do you want, make me come, _please_ –”

It's only then that he becomes aware of his own cock—that he's been literally humping the bed with as he ate her out— _that's what it's called, that's it_ —and he groans, using his hands on her stomach to drag her closer and dig his face deeper and finally, finally find her clit again, taking it in his mouth and dragging his tongue across it like he's drawing a map and—

His gasp as a jet of liquid hits his neck is drowned out by her scream—she's _screaming_ , upper body writhing and legs slamming closed around his head as she throws her head back and _screams_ , god, she's never made that noise before and she'll bring the whole _house_ down on them–

And he doesn't stop, something tells him not to stop, and reaching out with one arm to grasp her flailing hand he drags his mouth down to her entrance and she's like a _river_ , her entire pussy spasming and shoving liquid into his face as he licks directly into her cunt, slides back up to her clit and sucks and sucks again.

“Stop–, _stop_ ,” she moans, hand in his hair now pushing against his skull even though her thighs remain clamped around his ears.

Daryl gives her cunt one last slurp before letting her alone, panting almost as heavily as she is as he watches her pussy contract on itself, the rhythmic pulsing, and he can't help the finger that slides back inside her just to feel her walls squeeze it tight.

Their breathing is the only sound in the room, in the world—the crickets outside begin to filter back into Daryl's consciousness, but he pushes them aside so he can listen to the two of them, listen to her, sucking air into her lungs like she's come up from the bottom of the sea.

When the pounding in her cunt subsides to mere flutters Daryl sighs and lets his finger slip out, rests his head on her thigh where it's flopped helplessly to the bed. Her other leg comes in to protect her sensitive flesh from his gaze, the air, he doesn't know. He looks up at her and her head has fallen back, resting against the pillows. The fingers in his hair have relaxed, slipping a little off his head in her limpness. Her other hand is still clasped with his.

Daryl pulls himself up, groans when his cock loses the friction of the sheets but choosing to ignore it; crawls up her body so he can hover over her, push the hair out of her face.

“Beth?” he whispers.

His hand is cupping her cheek when her eyes flutter open; follows the dip of her head as she lowers it to look at him. Her eyes are slightly glazed over, gazing into the middle distance—she blinks rapidly and her eyes come alert, focus in on his face.

“Oh my god,” she says, gaping at him. He frowns and is about to ask when her shaking hand comes up to touch his face, and it's only then that he realizes how soaked he is—he feels her cum drying as high up as his cheekbones. He licks his lips and her eyes track the motion, snapping back to his eyes when he sighs. “What?” she asks.

“Tastes good,” he says.

She blinks at him, then laughs—softly, and with a tremor, but she laughs, and mirrors his hand on her cheek with her own on his.

“Daryl...” she says, trailing off even as her mouth continues to move, searching for the words.

He presses his forehead against hers. His cock is still hard, and even as he holds himself off her body it taps her stomach now and then, so she knows he hasn't come yet. But she doesn’t reach for him, and he's glad she doesn't. He feels the pounding in his dick and the wetness on his face and sees her sweating, flushed, breathtaking face, and he wouldn't change a single fucking thing.

“Liked that, huh?”

Beth laughs again, clasping the back of his neck to hold him to her. Her leg moves, knocking against his dick and making it twitch. “I think you did too.”

Daryl shivers violently, the tremors wracking his body from head to toe, and Beth laughs a third time, tilts her head so she can press a breathless kiss to his mouth. He feels her tongue come out and trace his lips, more hesitant than it's been for a long time, and when he realizes it's because she's tasting herself for the first time and he shivers once more.

“We're doing that again,” she says against his mouth. “Sound good?”

He doesn't answer in words; reaches down between them and palms her pussy, smiling as she shudders. He rubs her gently with his whole hand; not meant to arouse, but to gentle, and her body relaxes into it. She sighs, and with some pressure on his neck pulls him down to lie across her. He shifts his weight so the mattress takes more of it than she does, then tucks his face into her neck and tastes her there too.

“Girl,” he says against her neck, “You ain't waking up without my tongue up your cunt ever again.”

And again, she laughs; delighted, shimmering, warm like a hearth as she wraps her arms around him.

“That a promise, Dixon?”

He doesn't need to say anything. The curve of his lips against her skin is enough.

 


End file.
